The Master Key

by T. K. Toppin

  “Temper, temper,” he warned with that cocky smirk. His eyes lingered on mine, like a man about to kiss his lover.

  “I’m quite capable of doing it myself,” I hissed back with anger.

  I hadn’t missed the casual and very deliberate hand passing over my waist and loitering there when he removed the thumb restraints. Wrenching the wig off, I flung it to the floor.

  “Your charm must be wearing off, James.” Ho, already seated with a glass of amber liquid in his hand, watched me.

  I jerked my head to Ho, then glanced around rapidly to check my surroundings. Besides James, there were two others. One sat close to Ho, the other stood at the rear of the shuttle, looking burly and solid.

  “Where are we going?” I barked.

  The shuttle was already thrusting its engines with a whine. Small vibrations from the engines tickled underfoot and dread filled me. No way to escape now.

  “Somewhere more comfortable. But please,” Ho indicated to a seat, “sit and relax. The flight is short, but we may as well enjoy it. Something to drink?”

  “A vat of the devil’s piss will do just fine, thanks.”

  Ho beamed out a smile. It creased his eyes to slits. He still smelled the same: a mixture of something thick and overpowering like old ladies’ talcum powder, and flowers—funeral flowers—sweet and heavy. In the small confines of the shuttle, it was overpowering. I wanted to throw up.

  “Your vocabulary remains…most colorful,” he replied.

  “So I keep hearing.” I sat as far away as possible from Ho. For now, I would gladly take my chances with James, who loitered nearby.

  “How is Margeaux?” Ho lifted a black brow with the same overly poised way he did everything.

  “Fine. But not for long. She’ll be the first person my husband skewers with a club to find out where I am.” With a regretful pang, I thought of Margeaux.

  “That will get him nowhere,” he took a sip, “as he will soon find out. She knows nothing.”

  “My husband will find ways to get answers.” I shrugged. “So…Iceland. Why here?”

  Ho cast a slow, amused glance to James. “You told her?”

  James shrugged. “She would not shut up.”

  “Yes, she is quite annoying.” Ho turned to the man standing at the rear. “Go to the cockpit.”

  Like an obedient pet, the large man complied, lumbering by us at a placid pace. The other man, who sat behind Ho, glanced out the window with a bored slackness on his face. He was Asian as well, with sharp, high cheekbones, scowling features and a thin mouth. His hair was spiked like a porcupine’s; the tips were dyed red and purple.

  “You tell me why, Josie.” Ho smiled, a wicked gleam playing across his eyes. “I hear you have a very…intriguing mind.”

  “You seem to hear a lot about me. I wonder where you’re getting it all from.”

  “I have my ways.”

  “I bet you do.” I gave him what I hoped was a scathing look. “Iceland,” I continued. “Hmm. The only thing I can think of is that this is where the DNA is stored. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

  “Very good,” Ho grinned, showing small teeth.

  “Afraid the truth will be revealed, are you? That Margeaux isn’t related to me at all, so you’ve come to destroy all the evidence?”

  “Oh, no. She is who she says she is.”

  “So what do you want me for? You’ve got your fucking code. Deal’s done.”

  “Not quite.”

  “Listen, just admit you’ve tampered with the electronic DNA samples. You succeeded in messing with my head. Bravo.” Something in me—a hope, a need—deflated.

  “Josie, my dear. I have done many things, but the only thing I have tampered with is the true identity of Margeaux’s father. And her face.”

  I squinted at him for a moment. “What do you mean? You surgically altered Margeaux’s face? To make her look like me, like my real niece?”

  Ho said nothing, took another sip, and sighed with satisfaction.

  “You fucking bastard,” I said. “So you did fool me.”

  Rampant hate bubbled close to the surface. I wanted to see him dead, beaten to a bloody pulp, preferably. I felt…betrayed. And foolish, so foolish, for falling headfirst into the trick.

  “Just tweaked a little bit of her face, to make it fit.”

  “So what did she look like?” Sickness punched me, and somewhere, deep down—rage.

  “Margeaux is Asian, part Asian.” Ho smiled with uncontained glee. “Like her father.”

  “I take it that Thomas Laperriere is not her father?”

  “Oh, he is. But he is not dead.”

  “Really? Do tell.” I sensed I wasn’t going to like the answer. Watching Ho now, I had the distinct feeling he’d rehearsed this moment many times, hoping to inflect the right amount of suspense and drama in his voice and manner.

  “Oh, my dear, Josie. You must have guessed by now.”

  “Oh, no, really. I have not.”

  “Josie. I am Thomas Laperriere.” Ho seemed to wait a beat to watch my reaction.

  I gave him none.

  I stared back at him, keeping my features as bland as I could. But inside, something screamed out in horror. I’d guessed it in my gut, the way the conversation was going, but my mind was only just catching up.

  “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?” I tried my best to sound unaffected by emotions.

  For an answer, Ho just smiled his usual pasty smile.

  “You can’t seriously expect me to believe that you are her father.”

  James made a strange noise, something like someone clearing his throat—but not quite. If he were a cursing man, it would’ve sounded a lot like “fuck me,” but I couldn’t be sure. But it did make me hesitate before I could align my thoughts. I remembered what James had said about Ho and his manner toward Margeaux.

  He cares for her greatly, he’d said.

  “Understand that this is three hundred years later,” Ho replied with an icy coldness in his voice. “A lot can happen.”

  “Do tell.”

  “It would take too long.” Ho shifted in his seat. His glass was empty, and though he glanced at it to drink more, it appeared something like control had him quelling the urge for another. But the apparent sheer joy in playing with me made him flick his glance at the drinks tray for another celebratory drink.

  “If Margeaux is your daughter, as you’re leading me to believe,” I bit down the temptation to shout and found comfort in gripping the arms of my seat, “then you’re a bigger and sicker fucker than I’ve given you credit for.”

  Ho smiled back. “How so?”

  “You cut her.”

  He laughed, long and loud, which sent shivers running up and down my spine. “It was her idea. I only followed her lead.”

  I didn’t know what to do. Uncertain, I glanced up at James, seeking support, anything. He stood impassive, a bland stare directed at Ho. Whatever thoughts he had, he kept them to himself.

  I surged to my feet, anger spearing through me. Leveling my eyes at Ho, I shouted. “Tell me. What is it you want from me?”

  “I need you, what you carry.” Ho brushed his suit smooth, composing himself. “But do not worry. It won’t be too painful so long as you comply peacefully. I’ll be happy with just taking some your blood.”

  “For what?”

  “For the code.”

  “What?” Complete bafflement washed over me. It was like a jigsaw puzzle made by schizophrenics, getting weirder and more confusing by the minute. “You already have the code.”

  Sighing and losing a bit of patience, Ho frowned. “Josie, my dear. Your DNA strand makes up part—it may be quite a small part, but a part all the same—of a certain code. This code is a key, a master key that unlocks a formula. I want this formula.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? You already have my DNA. How else could you have found out I’m Margeaux’s—your—ah, fuck!” I dropped back into my se
at. Winded.

  Impossible. Just freaking impossible! There was absolutely no way I could be related to this man. This flaming lunatic!

  “If I still had your DNA, do you really think you would be here now?” Ho made an unpleasant face. “But it is more complicated than that. I need a somewhat live specimen. The instructions were quite precise on that. By live, I mean the right temperature. I can’t quite get the right temp with a hair sample, now can I? And it is blood that is needed, not a strand of hair, a gob of saliva or clipping off a fingernail. Blood. Red and white blood cells, plasma, and every glorious thing that makes blood what it is.”

  I had to escape. I had no intention of taking my chances with a man like Ho, a deranged monster. This was too Frankenstein meets Dracula. Too mad-scientist! My chest tightened with anxiety, and the tips of my fingers tingled.

  I ordered my mind to calm down, to think rationally.

  Don’t be distracted, John’s voice echoed back. Don’t be distracted.

  If we were in Iceland, the only thing I could think of was that we were heading straight to the DNA bank to get these “live” specimens. Ho wasn’t there to tamper with anything, just seeking specific samples that made up a key. That still didn’t explain why my blood was needed.

  “But why blood? Surely, in this day and age, you can replicate my blood from the hair samples you used?” Trying my best to sound sarcastic, I made a casual toss of my head, like Margeaux would. But even I could hear the edge of fear lacing my words.

  Ho sighed with impatience. “I had but one strand of your hair. Wellesley’s cleaning droids were very thorough in their rounds. Of course, my specialists used every piece of that hair for their research. They were quite precise in their investigations. But as I’ve said before, I need a live blood specimen. Really, don’t be so dense. You are obviously not as astute as I thought you to be.” He shook his head a fraction, then he actually tsked with annoyance.

  “How very wasteful of them,” I snapped back. “That must’ve pissed you off.”

  “Quite. They have been dealt with accordingly.” With irritation, Ho leaned forward to a drinks tray panel and helped himself.

  “Live blood, you say,” I tried to sound conversational. “So then, why take me? You could’ve just as easily gotten a blood sample from me the same way you had me kidnapped. You had ample time to take it while I was out cold, then toss me. Why drag me out here and stir up an almighty ants’ nest?”

  Ho grinned. “This way is more entertaining, don’t you think? And it shows that I can. Take you. Right from under the nose of your husband. It is a very satisfying feeling.”

  “I’ll bet. It’s all about who’s got the bigger balls, right?” I snorted and shifted in my seat. Queasiness bubbled inside my stomach.

  “Did you not feel it, Josie? That first time we met?” His voiced sounded enthralled.

  I blinked in confusion. My mind still reeling from the impossible realization that Ho, this man before me, was in fact my nephew. I felt truly sick.

  “The connection,” he continued, seeing my ignorance.

  “I felt nothing but revulsion. I thought you were a fucking pervert,” I spat out. “I still do.”

  “I felt it—loud like a bell tolling. The first moment I saw you, something about you spoke out to me. I thought at first it was just ordinary curiosity. After all, you were quite an unusual woman. I did not believe Wellesley at all. You were no more an amnesiac than James there is a homemaker. So I did my own checking. It took a great deal of time, but eventually I managed it. It helped that I knew where to look. I’d been looking for a long time. And when I found the connection, well, you can just imagine my surprise. And luck. You see, your face, it was familiar to me. Certain parts, bone structure, facial expression, I had seen before. But your eyes, especially your eyes, the shape, size, coloring.”

  Surprise was an understatement. I stared hard at Ho. A part of my mind absorbed every single detail on his face, trying in vain to find some small mark of resemblance. I found none. What could he possibly have seen in me that caused him to think I was part of him?

  I wanted to shriek my head off in hysteria, but instead remained silent, my mouth clamped tight.

  “You see, for a number of years I have been doing a specific type of research on my own. Well before Margeaux was even born, I have been keenly interested in a certain family member of mine—sorry, of ours. A one, Dr. Zara Sozanski. You may be familiar with her name. She was the mother of young Brandon Sozanski, the one whose DNA strand started this whole intriguing mystery. Zara was a very talented and brilliant scientist. She specialized in cell regeneration and fusion.”

  “I still don’t know why this has anything to do with me. You’re talking ancient history here, and in my case…well…”

  Beaming like the sun, Ho took a small sip of his drink. “Dr. Sozanski created this code using the DNA strands of her family. It was an old-school method, tried many times before, but she trusted it was confusing enough that people would become frustrated. You see, she took samples of her son, his children, and her great-granddaughter. She also took a sample from herself. Once the code was created, she used it to lock a special program that hid her entire research formula in fusion technology. The program was carefully scattered across the worldwide cyberspace platform. Your DNA will be the closest to her own DNA.”

  “Closest? Hello? Have you not been listening to yourself? Ancient history, remember? We’re talking at least two hundred years close!” I leaned forward in my seat, goggling at him. “And she’s not even my direct descendant. How, then, can her DNA and mine, be similar enough to complete the code? There’d be gaps. Very large gaps.”

  “Oh, of course. The gaps will be filled in by my own brand of electronically generated genetic cloning, created through a run of possibilities via a computer program that I created.”

  “So why the fuck couldn’t you have done that in the first place? And why not make up a batch of her son’s DNA? He is, after all, much closer to her than I am.”

  “As I said, this way is far more entertaining. And it will give us a chance to get acquainted—for however short a time that may be. But no, your DNA will be close enough for the program to decipher how best to clone the missing pieces. And then an actual clone DNA must be made on the spot, with your blood, of course, as the base. I cannot use Brandon’s sample since it is limited, nor can I use my own DNA because I am a few generations too far, and my Asian heritage will be a greater mix. Yours would be like a pure source and somewhat limitless in supply in case there is a misstep somewhere in the process.”

  “Just drain me like a stuck pig, why don’t you.”

  Ho chuckled, sounding pleased.

  “Whatever. Sounds like absolute bullshit to me. Just kill me now and get it over with then, ’cause I know you’re gonna once you get the blood out of me.” I rolled my eyes in frustration. “And if you think you and I are going to be doing any serious bonding, you got some big fucking expectations.” For emphasis, I pulled the lapels of the overcoat James had given me, tugging them until they closed with a snap around my chest, protecting me from the evil before me.

  I was more than disgusted, more than horrified. I wasn’t quite sure what it was I felt, but ashamed came pretty close. How could I have allowed myself to fall for all this in the first place? Was I that gullible? Was I that hard up for wanting a connection, a family? Was I so needy? I wanted to curl up and cry.

  John had been right all along. He’d seen right through Margeaux. Hadn’t he told me not to be distracted? And what had I done? The very thing John had warned me not to do.

  John. My heart throbbed with pain as I thought of him. He was probably going absolutely berserk with worry. And if—no, when—he found me, I had every faith in the fact that Ho would be beyond very dead. He would find me; nothing could stop him. But when would that be? And would he get to me before I was dead? I had to buy him some time. Stall Ho as much as possible.

  “I am not an overly
sentimental man.” Ho watched me over the rim of his glass. “But to be honest, it does sadden me to know your time here is limited. Such a pity, since you’ve come all this way. And yes, I will have to kill you. Keeping you alive could pose more problems for me than I care to deal with at the moment. Alas, everyone must die, sooner or later. And is it not better to spend what time you have left with family?”

  I sent him a cold stare. “Go to fucking hell.”

  Chapter 21

  “What do you mean?” John asked with impatience. “She left when?”

  Rand knew nothing of Josie’s disappearance, so John, thinking it prudent not to say anything, tried to keep his face neutral. Rand was family, and fond of Josie, but that was beside the point. He would understand the situation, John reasoned to himself.

  “After your urging, Aline left early this morning. She made an appointment yesterday to meet with Dr. Maines at Hontag-Sonnet.” Rand creased his brow. “Aline thought it best to make haste and get to Iceland, as you suggested. Is there something wrong?”

  “No.” John rubbed a hand across his mouth. He’d forgotten entirely about speaking with Aline. “No. All is well, for now. Thank you, Rand. I’ll contact her later.” As he turned to go, a traitorous bite heated up his face. How could he lie to Rand?

  John kept his head down as he walked away. Rand wasn’t stupid, and knew enough of the intricate and dangerous lives the Lancasters led. He’d been a part of their family for a decade and knew when not to press things. But John still flushed with shame that he didn’t tell him about Josie. He also had not missed the sudden worried expression that had washed over his brother-in-law’s face. Squashing down the guilt, John walked on, knowing they talked about him, his sister and Rand, about how pointless it was to barrage him with questions or demand answers. They thought he didn’t hear, but he did. John could hear his sister now; she’d say how cold and uncaring he was when his mind focused on something. And Rand would counter that he knew what was at John’s core, that he cared deeply about what mattered the most to him and his family.